Vash's Long Road to Home
by Eden Evergreen
Summary: (VQL # 2) 20 years post-Manga (spoilers keep sneaking in, sorry), after 18 years of "A Quiet Life"... Vash sets out again.
1. The Journey Begins

_Hopefully this tale can stand alone. However, it is also a sequel to _"Vash's Quiet Life."_ It begins 20 years after Trigun Maximum ends. **There are some spoilers**, if anyone has not yet finished reading the manga._

_I do not own Trigun / Vash._

_Lyrics are from: _"He Ain't Heavy... He's My Brother" _The song was written by Bobby Scott and Bob Russell circa 1969_.

**Chapter 1: The Journey Begins**

_The road is long_

_With many a winding turn_

_That leads us to who knows where_

_Who knows where?_

_..._

The suns approached their zenith, shedding their merciless hot rays upon the desert sands.

Vash's eyes roamed over the trackless wastes as he walked. For most of his life, this had been his true home. This space between places, the vast desolation where only sandworms and the occasional sand steamer roamed - it seeped into his soul. It was a place where anyone could lose himself.

The emptiness reached out to embrace him, as it had so many times before. Perhaps that was why he had unconsciously underestimated his water needs on so many occasions, including eighteen years ago. Perhaps some part of him had wanted to truly become lost, forever.

Although there had been numerous times when he had almost wished for death, times when his pain became unbearable, he'd never again actively sought it. Not since Rem prevented it, all those years ago, shortly after he'd learned about Tessla.

He fully embraced Rem's objection to suicide. If there is life after death, he didn't want to face her if he had failed her so completely.

He had flirted with death, a few times, when he was feeling especially overwhelmed. Wolfwood had been correct about that. Sometimes he did take risks that need not have been quite so risky. There had been times when he should have been a little more cautious, or better prepared.

From the day that Rem died, his known destiny had been clear: to honor her final requests. She had plainly asked him to take care of Knives. Her sacrifice had asked him to take care of ordinary humans. They had needed his protection, especially from Knives.

When he let himself think on it, he was still surprised that he had survived his final battle with Knives. He nearly hadn't. The reason he'd survived was even more difficult to grasp. It seemed so unreal. Why? What caused him to do that?

He wondered, again, what had become of his brother. The wanted posters had not been recalled, so no body had been found. Yet Vash had not sensed Knives, nor heard his thoughts, since waking after that fight.

Has Knives also been hiding, living as a human under a different name? Or had he fallen so far out in the desert that his corpse remained undiscovered?

Vash wasn't sure which he hoped was true.

He paused atop a sand dune, guiltily realizing that he'd forgotten to shorten his strides while lost in thought. He listened as his companion's footsteps approached. He felt Shyla's warm affection wrap around his soul. It eased some of the ache.

Answering warmth welled up within him, and spilled over as he briefly turned his face to his right, to smile at her. He was grateful to her, for that among other things. He returned his gaze to the desert in front of them.

Shyla represented today's destiny. The fulfillment of a promise made 17 years ago, to her mothers. Take care of her; get her somewhere that she will be safe. Somewhere that she can learn her full potential, and grow to fulfill it.

They were correct. A young plant girl, alone among ordinary humans... she would need his help to find a safe, quiet place where she could grow. He could do this. He knew exactly where to take her.

He would not look beyond that task, not until after it was tended. She would sense it, and worry about him.

Thanks to Shyla and her human mother, his soul had healed enough that he no longer dreaded living. He simply did not know how he would go about it, after the girl was safe.

If Wolfwood were here, he'd likely hurl an insult or three at him followed by a wisecrack or two that would somehow contain a subtle suggestion. That suggestion might be wisdom, or it might be foolishness, but it would give him a place to begin.

Vash missed that not-so-priestly priest. His best friend, whose life had been cut short; the guilt of that failure engulfed him.

Gentle fingers touched his arm. "N- Vash?" she said. He could feel the depth of her concern in both her voice and her emotions.

"I was just missing a friend of mine, who died," he said. "I miss him like we miss your mother."

"You don't feel so guilty when you miss Naomi," she said. She looked up at him with the innocent eyes of a child.

Damn. He would have to guard himself more carefully. Being out on the desert again, old habits had resurfaced. This left him too widely open to one who could sense what he felt.

She had been too sheltered, he realized. He should have helped her to prepare. At 22, she shouldn't be quite so childlike. Yet he had not wanted their quiet life with her human mother to end. He'd put off efforts to prepare, for too long. And then, abruptly, there had been no more time.

Part of the problem was his own inexperience with other people, he realized. That was something he should have thought to study, and found ways to compensate. He had spent most of his long life, of necessity, isolated and alone. He knew how to protect. He had little idea how to teach a child to grow into an adult reasonably able to protect herself.

"I..." he began, uncertain how to proceed. How could he possibly help her to understand, without wounding her needlessly?

"He was killed, Shyla." He said at last. "If he had not been my friend, he might still be alive." He looked away from her as he spoke, bowing his head and accepting the pain those words evoked.

He heard her bag drop and felt her hug his arm. Shyla always approached him from the side or from behind, as her human mother had taught by example. He briefly wondered if it ever occurred to her to hug someone from in front.

"He chose to be your friend," she said. "I'm sure that whatever life he had was better for that, than if he'd never known you."

Vash blinked back tears, and patted her hand. She believed in him as innocently and completely as she loved him. He could not help but expect that both of those things would change, when she began to truly understand who and what he was. Perhaps that was another reason he'd procrastinated. He would miss this, in her.

He'd never realized how much he ached for that kind of love, until he received it.

When they set out earlier this morning, Shyla had asked to know all about him. At that time, he had only smiled at her and offered an ambiguous response.

Suddenly he had an inspiration. He paused, mulling it over and examining it from all sides. He must not act on impulse, not with something this important.

He felt her curiosity, and her patience. He knew she sensed his struggle, but would not press him. Again, he was grateful to her.

He continued pondering, refining the idea and choosing how to put it into practice, one step at a time. He examined his idea from all angles again, but found no fault with the plan. He even knew precisely where to begin.

"Shyla," he said softly, "I would like to give you a gift."

She stood quietly beside him, her arms wrapped around his right arm, her head on his shoulder. She was intensely curious, yet trusting and patient.

"It is something we can do because we are not ordinary humans," he said. "If you want it, I can give you a gift of memories. You have shared your mother with me. I would like to share my mother with you."

He sensed her delight at his offer, and smiled. "I can share the memories so that they will be like looking through a window at other people," he continued, "or I can share them so that you will look through my eyes, and experience each moment as I did."

"Please, let me see them through your eyes," she said, "and not through a window."

He'd half-expected that answer. He leaned his cheek briefly against her head, still resting on his shoulder. "Best we sit down," he said. "I will need a little time to prepare."

He felt her nod, and release his arm. They sat, facing each other. He held out his right hand, and she took it. He closed his eyes, and concentrated. He carefully duplicated all of his earliest memories, stopping just before he and Knives learned about Tessla. He separated the copies, gathering them together at the front of his mind, where he would open a way for her to come in.

Without opening his eyes, he explained to her what she would need to do. He no longer had the power to stretch his consciousness into her, as he had done when he pleaded the cause of humanity with the co-integration of plant consciousnesses. He could still lower some of his mental barriers enough to allow her to come in, though.

From her responses, Shyla understood what she needed to do. He opened his eyes, released her hand, and shifted to a kneeling position. She adjusted her position likewise. He gently reached out and laid his hands on either side of her face. He leaned forward, touching his forehead to hers. Then he closed his eyes again.

He felt her hands come to rest on either side of his own face, like a caress. He lowered the necessary barriers, and called to her with his mind.

She came, her gentle presence hesitating at the barrier, as if uncertain if she truly ought to proceed. He felt his face form a smile as he beckoned to her again.

Her consciousness entered his so gently, so respectfully, that she did not feel at all like an intruder. He relaxed a little, welcoming her, without ceasing to concentrate. He extended the memories he had prepared for her, and felt her accept them.

_After you are comfortable with these_, he thought to her, _if you want more then I can give you more_.

Her delight at that prospect settled any question of "if" quite thoroughly. She thanked him, and retreated back into herself as gently as she had come. He allowed his mental barriers to snap back into their usual places.

He released her face, and gently disengaged his own. Sitting back on his heels, still holding her hands, he considered her reaction.

Her eyes remained closed, and he could feel that she was beginning to experience his memories. She was smiling. She moved through his memories more swiftly than he had lived them, which was not surprising.

Thought moves faster than life, after all.

So far, so good, he thought. He would begin with only happy memories, fortifying her with those, regardless of when they came chronologically in his life.

Slowly, he would begin to let her learn from his own experiences. Eventually, he would have to share difficult and even painful memories. Some of those he would only offer in "through a window" view.

He would not share everything. Some things hurt too much, and would wound her.

However, as long as she wanted more, he would share more until it was enough. Even so, what he had to share might be more than she expected. It might be more than she wanted, before she stopped asking.

She was young and inexperienced. Naïve and trusting, she believed and imagined only good in him.

While he was not eager to injure that belief, he could not permit her to remain so unaware of the harsher realities of life. If he did, he would be failing in his promise to protect her.

He knew she was strong. He wondered how long it would be before she stopped asking for more of his memories. He guessed that might come farther into the difficult times of his life than he would find comfortable.

Even with that awareness, he could think of no better way to teach her.

Suddenly it occurred to him that she might not stop asking at all. Ever. If that happened, where should he stop?

That thought gave him a great deal to ponder, as the suns pursued their slow trek toward the evening horizon.


	2. A Day in the Desert

_I do not own Trigun / Vash._

_Lyrics are from:_ "He Ain't Heavy... He's My Brother"_ The song was written by Bobby Scott and Bob Russell circa 1969_.

**Chapter 2: A Day in the Desert**

_But I'm strong_

_Strong enough to carry him_

_He ain't heavy, he's my brother_

_..._

After three months of travel, the view had scarcely changed. Endless sky stretched above; endless sand waited beneath their feet and before their faces. Both suns had cleared the horizon, and were crawling up the sky toward their zenith. There were no clouds, and the temperature was rising.

Vash carefully guided Shyla's steps around a stone so she wouldn't stumble. Her eyes were unfocused. He continued holding her hand, leading her as if she were blind. He held both of their bags over his other shoulder with his artificial hand. He could sense from her emotions that she remained deeply buried within his own memories.

She was making rapid progress. In the same manner that reading takes less time than writing, so remembering takes less time than living. Soon, perhaps even today, she would finish working her way through what she had been given.

He wondered how soon she would ask for more.

Up one dune, down the next, he found himself again considering another idea. If acted upon, it would not be without risk. However, it would be less risk than if... he looked at Shyla. He knew that she would agree to do this, without hesitation, if he asked.

So the question was, _should_ he ask her? Was the risk too great?

Each evening, before he slept, he had been carefully choosing and editing the next set of memories to share with her. After two weeks of pondering, he had chosen his years with Lina and her grandmother.

It would not greatly distress Shyla to know he'd been hurting, since he'd been in pain when he came to her mother's house, too. He carefully removed from those copied memories all of the reasons for his pain - that could come later, if it seemed appropriate.

He wanted Shyla to know Lina and Sheryl as well as he did. He wanted her to understand, before making any decisions, why he would consider a detour from the straightest path to their intended destination.

That detour, if taken, would last a month and a half in each direction. He considered it for two reasons. If Sheryl still lived, she would be growing very old. He did not want to miss an opportunity to see her again, if it was not already too late.

From a practical perspective, it was an opportunity to refill their canteens and purchase other needful supplies that might be running low by that time. He had planned stops in several cities, but usually larger ones where an unfamiliar face would blend into the crowds. The town where Lina had lived, if she still lived there, was smaller.

His footsteps slowed as he realized that he already knew what he wanted to do. He just didn't know if he should. Perhaps Shyla could be more objective.

There was a sudden burst of emotion from her. "Oh, Vash," she said, "Rem is such a beautiful person! She's so kind, and wise, and joyful, and she sings so beautifully..."

He smiled, tasting the utter sincerity of Shyla's emotions as she spoke. "Yes," he said. "She was."

"Was?" Shyla repeated carefully. She stopped walking, looked thoughtful for a moment, and then looked sad. "She looked so young, unlike my mother. I'd hoped that perhaps..." her voice faded away.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I wasn't thinking about when that must have been. The ship that you were on... was it one of the ones that fell?"

"Yes," he said softly. "Rem died that day."

"Oh, Vash!" Shyla let go of his hand and moved against his right side to hug him. "I'm so sorry!" With her head resting on his right shoulder, she cried over Rem's death.

He hugged her with his right arm, and leaned his cheek against her head. His own tears flowed freely, as they had so many times before when he remembered Rem.

It was the first time anyone had cried with him for Rem's death. He felt that old wound reopen, deep within himself, as it had many times before. This time, Shyla's gentle tears eased the sharpness of that ache.

The pain of losing Rem didn't go away, but somehow it wasn't as unbearable anymore. Had the injury been cleansed? He didn't know. He only knew that it helped to share it, and that some sort of healing was happening. He closed his eyes and let it happen.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before his mind registered that they were in the desert, crying away precious water. They could not afford to weep all day, as they had for Shyla's recently departed mother. He had to pull himself together, and help Shyla do the same.

He opened his eyes, and saw from the position of the suns that at least an hour had passed. "Shh," he said into her hair. "Rem would want to be remembered with joy, not sorrow." He knew the truth of this, and had told it to himself countless times. Yet he still wept when he remembered her.

"Of course she would," Shyla said, lifting her head and letting go of him to wipe her eyes. "I'm sorry. It feels as if I was just speaking with her, and suddenly..." Her chin quivered, but she clenched her teeth and resisted the urge to cry further.

"And we're in the desert, where water is scarce," he added practically. That distraction helped him to refocus. Perhaps it would assist Shyla, also.

"True," she said. She looked confused for a moment, and reached up to pat each of her own shoulders. Then she looked at him, saw that he carried both bags, and held out her hand in a beckoning gesture.

He gave her bag to her. She slung it over her shoulder, and then gave him a mildly stern look that quickly dissolved into playfulness. "I'm not a baby," she said. "There are _some_ things that I can do for myself!"

He laughed. He couldn't help it. Somehow knowing himself guilty of her implied accusation made it even funnier.

Or perhaps it was merely a release, after the sharing of grief.

As they began walking again, she linked her arm in his. The winds blew crosswise, and he could feel her unbound hair brushing against his in the wind.

He could picture it. Golden and raven, sunlight and shadow, innocence and experience, pure and fallen, saint and sinner, youth and age... for a moment, it seemed as if all the differences between them were reflected in their hair.

_I must not give way to brooding while she's paying attention_, he reminded himself. He slipped into the goofy side of his personality and did his best to entertain her with whatever foolishness came to mind. Her peals of delighted laughter were ample reward for his efforts.

That evening, as they made camp for the night, he sensed an unusual wistfulness in her. He sat on his thermal blanket, and rummaged in his bag for food.

She had spread out her own thermal blanket a hand's breadth from his, as usual. But she did not sit on it yet. She just knelt there, looking thoughtful.

"Think fast," he warned, and tossed a package of food at her. He'd picked something he knew she liked to eat.

She caught it out of the air. There were advantages, he reflected, to being around someone else whose reflexes were as good as his own.

She flashed him a quick smile, moved onto her blanket, and began to open the package. Her fingers slowed, and then she sat frozen in thought again.

He knew that she would either speak or send her thoughts when she was ready. He used the time to eat and make another quick check through the package of memories he would share with her next. It was ready a few days ago, but he kept thinking there might be something he'd overlooked.

After a moment's additional thought, and checking that she wasn't quite ready to communicate with him yet, he added to the end of that memory package his request to visit Lina and Sheryl. He included all the considerations, for and against, that he'd been debating internally since the idea had occurred to him. There. It was done. He firmly set it aside, determined not to fret over it any further.

He folded his empty food package flat, and stowed it in his bag. Then he lay on his back on his blanket, and stared at the stars. He wasn't ready to wrap himself up for sleep, not yet. Not until he had done something to help set Shyla's mind at ease.

Vash lay patiently, staring at the stars, and waiting for Shyla to share whatever was troubling her.

"Vash?"

She said it so quietly. For a moment, he thought he'd imagined it. He opened his eyes, realizing that he must have dozed off. He turned his head to look at her, and smiled. Something about her drew smiles from his heart, and not merely from his face.

There was no sign of the food he had given her, so he hoped she had eaten it. As usual, she had positioned her bag beside her blanket, to serve as a partial windbreak against the chill night winds. She was cocooned in her blanket, as if ready for sleep.

"What is it?" he asked. The night had cooled considerably during his unintended nap. He sat up, rubbing his natural arm with the artificial one to warm himself.

"We're not... we're not really brother and sister, are we?" She said it as if she feared the answer.

"Not in a strictly biological sense," he said. "Most plants think of ourselves as siblings, though. Since we're both plants..."

"But that would make my mother my sister," she objected.

She had a point, he conceded. Thinking that way could feel confusing. "If we think of our mothers as sisters to each other, then that would make us cousins," he offered.

"So... what are we?" she persisted.

_I never lived in the rooms that were specifically your mother's home_, he thought. _I lived across the hall, as your next-door neighbor. Though your mother would speak of me as her adopted son, it was mostly in her heart. I won't be living next door anymore, though_.

"I don't know," he said.

"You don't know?" she sounded hurt.

"I like to think we've become friends," he said carefully.

"I hope so," she said.

His thoughts flickered over memories of Wolfwood and the insurance girls, his most recent friends. Livio had become an ally, but not someone he knew well enough to think of as a friend. Perhaps he would visit him to cure that, after Shyla was safe.

Wolfwood had been an equal, a brother in arms. He'd grown to be a good friend, largely through several life and death struggles where they'd fought together against mutual enemies. Because of this, and the philosophical debates and banter through which they'd come to understand each other, Wolfwood had grown into his best friend.

The insurance girls, well... like Shyla, they'd needed himself or Wolfwood to protect them. They were not incapable when faced with everyday problems. They were simply not as skilled as himself or Wolfwood against the assassins who had pursued him. The girls had been pleasant companions, at times... but not at their last meeting. He shivered.

Vash compared those friendships to what he shared with this young plant girl, and found the word "friend" feeling too ambiguous.

"'Friend' is such a broad word," he complained, frustrated. "It means something different almost every time one uses it."

He felt her mildly amused agreement with that statement.

He sighed. "'Good friends' is closer, I suppose. We're friends who are like family. You have a point, though. Somehow, the words 'brother' and 'sister' never felt quite like the right fit for the friendship between us." He shook his head. "Unfortunately, I can't think of any better words right now."

"So in a strictly figurative sense," she said, "because we're both plants, we could consider ourselves as brother and sister?"

"Or because we're both people," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"I wanted to know how to think of you, how you want to be thought of," she said, "and if anyone asks, I wanted to know how I should introduce you."

"For introductions," he said slowly, "I would probably say 'a good friend who is almost like a sister to me.'"

He felt her smile. "I'll remember that," she said. "Thank you."

He responded by letting himself feel his fond affection for her in full measure. Then he basked in the warmth of her fondness toward him.

"When may I ask for more of your memories?" she asked.

"When ever you feel ready," he said. "I don't want to overwhelm you. So we'll go at it however you feel most comfortable."

"I think I would like more now, please," she said. "If you don't mind, that is."

He grinned. "I don't mind."

"This set isn't all happy," he warned. "It may be best to wait till tomorrow before you begin, though I can give it to you now."

"I understand," she said. "I'm ready."

He moved over to the edge of his blanket, by where she was cocooned in hers. He gently held her face with his hands, and slowly leaned over until their foreheads were touching. He closed his eyes, lowered his barriers, and waited.

As before, she entered his mind with gentle respect, gratefully accepted what he had prepared for her, and then withdrew.

"Thank you," she whispered, smiling.

He scooted back onto his own blanket, and wrapped himself in it. "You're welcome," he said. "Rest well, and have pleasant dreams."

"You too," she said.

She quickly drifted off to sleep, a warm glow coming from her feelings. Good, she'd accepted his suggestion to wait until after sleeping to explore his memories.

He closed his eyes and was soon asleep.


	3. Old Friends

_I do not own Trigun / Vash._

_Lyrics are from:_ "He Ain't Heavy... He's My Brother"_ The song was written by Bobby Scott and Bob Russell circa 1969_.

**Chapter 3: Old Friends**

_So on we go_

_His welfare is my concern_

_No burden is he to bear_

_We'll get there_

_..._

The slanting rays of the setting suns spread their multicolored light across the sky, through the window of the Sheriff's office, and straight into the eyes of the Sheriff herself.

Lina blinked, looked at a clock, and smiled. Another day's work was done, finally. She didn't enjoy these long hours on summer evenings. However, it came with the job.

She stood up to stretch her back. "I never knew there would be so much paperwork!" she complained, not for the first time.

The deputy chuckled while standing and moving toward the door. "Strange. Somehow, it seems as if I've heard that once or twice before."

Fortunately, the deputy was a good dodger. A pencil sailed through the air narrowly missing the man's head. He continued chuckling, though he wasted no time getting to the other side of the door.

Lina rolled her eyes. "I get no respect!" she complained, loudly enough for the retreating deputy to hear. She put her hands on her hips, and shook her head at the laughter she heard fading out as her deputy walked away down the street.

"I suppose that means I need to lock up," she muttered.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a movement in the doorway. Thinking the deputy had forgotten something and returned, she glanced up... and her heart skipped a beat.

A tall, narrow figure partially swathed in a tattered brownish wrap stood just outside. Blonde strands of hair escaped from the matching hood, fluttering in the evening breeze. Light glinted off round lenses.

_Eriks?_ She wondered. After so long, was it possible he'd actually come to visit?

The individual stepped inside, where the light was better, and pushed back the hood.

_Not Eriks_, Lina thought, more disappointed than she cared to admit. "What do you want?" she snapped.

Lina's visitor removed her sunglasses. She had a shield-shaped face, wide at the eyes and forehead tapering gently to a narrow chin, framed by blonde hair the same color that Eriks' locks had been. Her long braid was wrapped around her head. She looked young.

"Are you Lina, Sheryl's granddaughter?" the visitor asked in softly respectful voice.

"Yes," Lina said, "who wants to know?" She knew almost everybody who lived any where locally, but she didn't recognize this girl.

The girl shifted her feet uncomfortably, and then her gaze shifted from Lina's face to the bulletin board with the wanted posters on the wall beside her. She swallowed. "I was asked to deliver a message," she said.

"And what might that be?" Lina asked impatiently. She'd not had dinner yet, and she was getting hungry.

"An old friend of yours was wondering if you - and your grandmother too, if she's well enough - might like to picnic outside of town this evening," the girl said.

Lina leaned forward over her desk, and looked directly up into her visitor's pale hazel eyes. "What old friend might that be, and who are you?"

"I'm Shyla." The girl's gaze met Lina's. "_He_ lived with you for two years," she said softly, "like a member of the family. I think you called him 'Eriks'?"

Lina felt as if she'd just been punched, hard, in the gut. She'd missed Eriks, but never really expected to see him again. Of course, she'd learned that wasn't his real name. If he really was nearby, that would explain the girl's discomfort with the wanted posters.

"Please." Shyla extended a hand, but stopped short of touching Lina's sleeve. "He's been ill since Juneora rock, and seeing you would mean a lot to him. That is..." she glanced again at the wanted posters, "if you wouldn't mind leaving your badge behind."

Lina glanced over the girl again. Shyla wasn't wearing any visible weapon. Just pants tucked into knee-high boots, a beige-colored shirt a few shades darker than her ivory skin, and a medium grey vest showed under her wrap.

That wrap looked exactly like the one Eriks had worn on the day Lina found him sitting at the edge of town.

_Well_, Lina thought,_ if this is a trick then it's a lot better than most_. There was a sound of sincerity in the way that Shyla expressed concern for the sick man. Equal concern was echoed in the girl's face and eyes.

Lina was still inclined to be cautious. "What does this man look like?" she demanded.

"He's half a head taller than I am," Shyla said. "His shoulders are wider than mine, though his seat is slightly narrower. He's lean, but not thin. He has a pleasant face, fair skin, straight hair, and blue-green eyes with a freckle by the outer corner of his left eye. There's a wide scar on the back of his right hand, and his left arm is a replacement."

Everything matched. "All right," Lina said slowly. She unpinned her badge and put it carefully into a desk drawer. She was already wearing her gun. "I'll need to stop by home and tell my husband he's on kid duty tonight."

Shyla nodded, and stepped back. "I can wait on the bench outside," she said. "Please don't take too long. I don't like to leave him alone while he's ill."

"Fine," Lina agreed. "I just live a few doors down the street, so this shouldn't take long."

"Thank you," Shyla said. She stepped outside and sat on the bench exactly as she'd said she would. The chosen bench had a convenient view down the street where Lina lived, but otherwise seemed innocuous enough.

Lina glanced again at the "wanted" posters before she locked the office for the night, and walked briskly down the street to her own house.

There had been a rash of "Vash the Stampede" crimes recently. There must have been at least 3 different bandits claiming that name, given the distances between the crimes and the frequency with which they occurred. None were rampaging nearby, thankfully.

None of those crime rumors sounded anything like the man she had known.

When Lina walked into her house, she immediately went looking for her husband. "I've got a traveler with a sick companion waiting at the office," she told him as she kissed him. "I'm going to go see what I can do."

"Are you sure it's not some outlaw looking to pull a fast one on a pretty young sheriff?" her husband inquired, kissing her in return.

"No," Lina said cheerfully. "So either I or my visitor will come here in a short while, looking for supplies for a sick person, if it's for real. If not, you can rustle Frank out of the saloon and come looking for me."

Her husband snorted. "A lot of good that will do, if they've already shot you," he complained.

"She had no objection to me bringing my gun," Lina told him. "She looks a lot younger than I am, and she doesn't look like a good liar. My instinct says she's not trying to cause any trouble."

"I'll feel better when I see someone here wanting supplies," he said. "I expect you'll be using the usual 'safe' signal?"

"Yes, of course," she replied playfully. "I wouldn't want to confuse you!"

Both laughed. She grabbed something warm to throw on if the night grew cold, and called over her shoulder as she left, "kiss the kids goodnight for me, okay?"

Shyla had been watching for her and stood up as Lina drew near.

"Ok, let's go."

Lina followed her out of town, and around an assortment of sand dunes. Shyla was obviously being cautious, making it difficult for anyone to follow them unseen. After another ten minutes, however, they rounded a dune and there he was.

A small campfire, barely an arm's length from him, provided light.

He sat on a thermal blanket with his back against a rock, wrapped in a second thermal blanket and a worn grey shawl. His hair was long, like he'd let it grow as Eriks, but black instead of blonde. He was sitting in almost exactly the same position as the first time she saw him. Except this time, his head was bowed forward, like he might have fallen asleep.

Shyla went near him touched his right arm. His head snapped up, he looked at her and then he looked past her. When he saw Lina he smiled, and all of her doubts melted away.

"Eriks!" She didn't remember walking to him, or kneeling beside him. She must have done both, for she was hugging him and feeling how he shivered as he hugged her.

"Oh, Eriks, it's so good to see you!" Lina said, and hugged him again.

"It's good to see you, too, Lina," he said. He managed a smile, though she could see tear tracks shining on his cheeks in the firelight.

Lina pretended not to see those shiny trails. "Shyla, did you see where my house is?"

"Yes."

"Please, go back there and tell my husband to get the cake out of the oven," Lina instructed. "Then get him to help you with finding supplies to help Eriks. I'll stay here with him for now."

"I'll return as quickly as I can," Shyla said, and walked away at a brisk pace.

"Looks like you need another haircut," Lina teased.

"I'm getting used to having it longer," he answered, grinning, "but if that's an offer, I'll keep it in mind."

Lina laughed and sat beside him, leaning her back against the same rock. She arranged herself to be near enough to share warmth, but not quite near enough to touch.

"How is your grandmother?" he asked, as soon as she was settled.

"She can barely walk anymore, which frustrates her," Lina said. "Other than that, she's pretty much the same as she's always been."

"I'm sorry she can't walk much," he said. "I would have liked to see her, too. Please send her my love, when you can."

"I will," Lina promised.

"Tell me how you've been?" he asked gently.

Lina guessed that he did not want to talk about himself, so she settled in and started telling some of her best anecdotes about recent years. She got him laughing, which both felt and sounded good.

Shyla returned after about the amount of time Lina expected. She kept telling anecdotes to Eriks while she watched the girl silently arrange things.

Shyla put another blanket around Eriks, put extra food away in her bag and his, and then warmed up a few things for dinner using the campfire. When the food was ready, she simply handed some to each of them, not interrupting the conversation.

Lina noticed that Eriks smiled at Shyla when she handed him his food, and that there was a doughnut on his plate.

Lina accepted her own plate with nodded thanks, and after she finished the current anecdote, the three ate in companionable silence. The food was plain, but good.

"So, what have you been up to?" Lina asked cheerfully.

"Disappearing," he said softly.

He was quiet for long enough that Lina began to think another anecdote was in order, but he spoke again just as she began to open her mouth.

"I moved around a lot for a while," he said. "Then Shyla's mother was kind enough to take me in, like you and your grandmother did. I stayed there until her mother died. Since then, Shyla and I have been roaming the desert until we found ourselves here."

Lina nodded amiably at Shyla. "Pleased to meet you," she said, belatedly remembering her manners.

"And you," Shyla said. She smiled, and then returned to cleaning up after dinner.

_Good grief, that girl is 'boring' with a capitol 'B'!_ Lina thought.

He must have guessed Lina's thoughts, since his next words seemed a response to them.

"Shyla has lived at home in a small town all her life," he said. "We're meandering toward a place where she can live safely and broaden her horizons at the same time."

"Where's that?" Lina wondered.

"Nobody knows," he said mysteriously, and then, "Tell me more about yourself, please?"

Lina ran through a few more stories about her more recent life, including how her wedding cake was toppled and some recent antics and accomplishments of her children.

"I'm glad you have children," he said. "This world needs more people like you."

That earned him a hug. As Lina was about to let go of him, Shyla caught her eye. The girl looked up at the moons, and then at Eriks, and then toward town. Right, he wasn't shivering so much anymore but he had been ill earlier that day. He'd need rest.

"I should go," Lina said regretfully. "It's getting late, and there are things I should do early tomorrow. Maybe I can see you again before you leave."

"Take care of yourself, Lina," he said.

The hugged again, and she walked away. At the top of the nearest dune, she looked back.

Shyla was on her knees beside him, with one arm around his shoulders and the other hand in his hair. He was leaning into her embrace. Lina was surprised to recognize that their posture was like an adult or elder sibling comforting a child, instead of like a man and a woman. While their mutual fondness was obvious, it was entirely unromantic.

_Well, naturally, he'd want someone with more personality_, Lina thought. She walked home with a bounce in her step, anticipating seeing him again the next day.

However, when she checked the place their campsite had been early the next morning, they were gone. Only a very few ashes from the campfire indicated that anyone had ever been there at all.

If not for missing her badge and finding it later in her desk drawer at the office, she might have thought the visit merely a dream.

At least he wasn't alone. That would please her grandmother, when she told her.

Lina sighed. "Take care of yourself, Eriks," she said.


	4. Seeds Village

_I do not own Trigun / Vash._

_Lyrics are from:_ "He Ain't Heavy... He's My Brother" _The song was written by Bobby Scott and Bob Russell circa 1969_.

**Chapter 4: Seeds Village**

_For I know_

_He would not encumber me_

_He ain't heavy, he's my brother_

_..._

I'll never forget the two years of traveling through the desert with Vash to reach the Seeds ship village. The journey began just after my human mother died. It was only fifteen years ago, but sometimes it feels like a different lifetime.

The first few months were uneventful, aside from his generosity in directly sharing his own memories with me. I was so excited!

I believe I was guilty of a mild case of hero-worship toward him. It's embarrassing to admit, but it's the truth. He's a legend with good reason: though not for the reasons most people might think. Back then, the concept of knowing a legend overawed me.

I wanted to know everything about him. The revelation that my neighbor "Nate," whom my human mother loved as a son, was truly the infamous "Vash the Stampede" had me fascinated.

I was young and foolish. I should have realized, even then, that his shooting skills are the least important thing about him. I was such a child! It's small wonder he treated me like a baby at times. I didn't understand it then, and would sometimes grow frustrated with him. Now I marvel at his patience with me.

I hope that we are better friends now, since he no longer needs to baby sit me.

At the time, I scarcely knew him. Oh, I knew his daily emotions well enough, but that's different from knowing a person's thoughts, goals, hopes, dreams, fears, frustrations and disappointments.

My plant mother told me that Vash, whom she called "red brother," had been hurt by humans. She was glad that my human mother had befriended him. She knew Naomi wouldn't hurt him as others had. Naomi was one of the few humans my plant mother respected.

To know that a person is hurting is different from knowing why he's hurting. And knowing why doesn't always teach one how to help.

I knew from how badly he hurt when we found him, all those years ago, that his memories could not all be happy ones. That did not dissuade me. I had daydreams of helping him heal, so that his gentle smiles would hold more joy than sorrow.

I knew that sharing a burden, even if that burden was emotional pain, could sometimes make it half as heavy. I wanted that for Vash. If there was any way I could do that for him, I was more than willing. I should have known it would not be so simple, but I was very young then.

I had processed the memories of his first year and mourned Rem. I had processed his memories of Lina and Sheryl. He'd indicated an interest in visiting them, which I shared. So we started toward the town where they had lived. After a day or two of travel in that direction, he gave me some of his memories about the place he was taking me to live.

I eagerly began processing those memories, as I had the others. I daresay I must have frustrated him at times, because while I absorbed his memories I couldn't see where I was going. He held my hand, patiently guiding my steps for many months.

It would have been more polite if I'd processed his memories only when we stopped to eat or sleep, instead of continuing all day every day. When I realized that, I did apologize. He gave me one of his gentle smiles and told me he didn't mind. However, after that I waited until we weren't walking to dive into his past.

That realization about my own bad manners came only two days before we reached Juneora rock. I'm thankful that I wasn't distracted on that day, because he needed my help very badly.

Vash became overwhelmed by a waking nightmare, some horrific memory replaying itself in his mind. He collapsed onto the sand with a scream, and then thrashed about saying "no!" over and over again while tears streamed down his face.

A few times, during the years when he lived across the hall from my mother and I, he would have nightmares like that. Naomi would calmly call his name, how ever many times it took, until he heard her and answered. Then she would hold him while he wept.

So I knew what to do, though it hurt to see him like that again. I have no idea how long he was trapped in that memory. It seemed a long time to me, and I can only imagine that it must have seemed worse to him.

Until he answered me or got quiet, I had to stay out of his reach. If I didn't, he might mistake me for whatever enemy he was fighting in his mind, and attack. Oh how I prayed for him as he laid there helplessly thrashing and weeping and saying "no" so many times!

He never did answer me that day, as he had done for mother or myself in times past. Instead, he went completely limp and then began shaking violently. When I realized that he wasn't fighting anymore, I got onto my knees and wrestled him onto my back. That took some time because when I'd just about get him settled he'd shake too hard and start sliding off before I could get a good grip on him.

Finally, I had his arms draped one over each of my shoulders, with his head reasonably balanced. I tied the drawstrings of our bags together, and slung them over my neck so that one hung on each side of my front, just like one of his arms was on each side. I put his wrists between the bag strings and my body, to help hold him in place. Then I got my arms under his knees, and stood enough to walk.

I had to lean forward while standing or walking, to prevent him from slipping off.

I dared not stumble, so I had to watch carefully where I walked. I had trouble climbing sand dunes, so I had to go around. I prayed for him constantly during that time. It was a day and a half before he woke up. He was still shaking terribly, though slightly less than at first. His body felt cold, instead of his usual temperature.

I eased him off my back, and undid the drawstrings of our bags. I wrapped him in his blanket, started a fire, and then wrapped my blanket around my shoulders sideways so that the length of it extended well past my hands.

I helped him to sit up, and then I sat with my back against a rock and had him sit by me with my blanket wrapped around both of us. It was the best way I could think of to help him warm up.

Even like that, it took until the following morning before his shaking grew enough less that he could talk or move on his own. Being Vash, naturally he apologized.

I told him to hush, he was worth it, and that the most important thing was to get him feeling better. I told him we'd traveled about a day nearer to Lina. He thanked me for that.

He managed some normal sleep, leaning against me, until about noon. Then he startled awake, and said he was hungry. He still had the shakes.

I rebuilt the fire, and rekindled it. I went through our bags and found things I knew he liked that are best served warm, and heated up some noodles for him.

Getting some warm food down his throat did him good, I could tell. I ate also, not wanting to grow too weak to help him. I returned to my prior position, and this time he slept the rest of the afternoon and all the night until morning.

His shaking had abated considerably, but it had not stopped. He was unwilling to wait longer, but insisted we continue toward visiting Lina. So I packed everything up, and made sure he had on his wrap. We walked for another day, until the town was visible in the distance. He was walking more slowly than usual, or we would have arrived before sundown.

In all that time, aside from thanking me for little things I did to help him along, he was silent in both word and thought. I think he had to work hard just to focus on walking.

We reached a place that suited him just as the first sun was setting. The second kept the sky bright a while longer. As planned, I went into the town in search of Lina. I wore his wrap, since he thought she might remember it and that might help her to trust me.

Thankfully, I found her quickly and with little difficulty. I was glad when she said she was willing to come see him.

I was able to get more supplies in that town while she visited with him. Her visit cheered him considerably, which was a tremendous relief to me. I was also relieved that she was willing to come as herself, and not as the sheriff. I didn't tell him about her job, but I wonder if somehow he knew.

After she left us, he said we needed to move on immediately. I asked if he was sure, since Lina had sounded interested in visiting more on the morrow and he still wasn't well. But he was determined. So I told him to rest while I packed things up, and then we began traveling toward the next city where he planned to refill our canteens and buy supplies.

He wouldn't stop until well past midnight. I tended camp chores again, and made sure he was well swathed in his usual blanket plus the two extras I'd bought. I also put his wrap and my own over him.

That brought out his sense of humor. "Thanks mama," he said mischievously.

"Hush, and get some rest," I told him. That earned me a weak chuckle before he fell asleep. I fell asleep as soon as I was wrapped in my blanket.

It took more than a week before he seemed like himself again. I offered to talk about it, but he declined. He said he couldn't be sure that talking about it wouldn't trap him in the memory again, and he didn't want that. I could understand that, so I let the matter drop.

After that, it was back to the old routine except that I was paying attention to the present when we walked instead of immersing myself entirely in his past. Thankfully, nothing else brought on another waking nightmare from any of his worst memories.

We walked into a largish town about once every four months, bought supplies, and left within an hour or two. Then we went back out on the desert.

When there was no rock to use as a backrest, we'd often sit back to back. It helped us both stay warm in the evenings. On severely cold nights, sometimes we'd wrap in our separate blankets and sleep back to back with the extra blankets spread over both of us. We always put our bags to either side of us to use them as windbreaks. Small as our bags were, they helped when we slept.

We arrived in the Seeds ship village after two years of walking in the desert. Even with processing the memories he'd given me every evening and mealtime, I wasn't finished before we arrived.

It was such an odd feeling, to see so many familiar things and faces that were also entirely new. The familiarity came from his shared memories, not my own knowledge.

Vash introduced me to Luida, and to Brad and his wife Jessica. Then Vash asked Brad and Jessica to introduce me to everyone else, since he needed to speak with Luida.

At first, I was too excited to think about anything except exploring and meeting people. Then I remembered that Vash had said he couldn't stay here with me. I ran back through the corridors, fearful that he would leave and I would never see him again.

Thankfully, he was still with Luida. They were just finishing up. He said he wanted to see me settled in, and he'd stay the night, but he needed to leave in the morning.

I am ashamed to admit I made a fool of myself that next morning, trying to persuade him to stay longer. I don't know how he kept patience with me. He was so gentle and kind, and promised to visit and send letters. He gave me more memories, so I would be less likely to run out before his return.

In the fifteen years since then, I've learned more than I'd ever imagined was possible to learn before I came here. And there's still vastly more information in the computers. I have barely begun. I'll be assisting in the infirmary next week, and learning ways to help heal people whose bodies are not working correctly.

Vash has kept his promise. I received a letter about two months later, signed with the name he used when he lived next door to my mother and I. He told how he had been checking on some of his other friends. I knew them from his shared memories, so I was pleased to learn they were doing well.

Meryl had married a widower with two children, and had two more children with her husband. The youngest was just beginning to walk well. Vash didn't make himself known to them, but he was pleased to see that the family looked happy.

Milly had gone to the orphanage in December, where Wolfwood died. There she and Livio had grown close. They were married, and recently had their third child. They were raising all three of their own alongside the orphans. Livio's friend Jasmine was involved with another orphanage in Octovarn.

Vash comes within radio range at least once every year, and visits occasionally. He's always kind enough to share more memories with me when he comes, and I always make fresh doughnuts for him while he's here.

The house given to me has two bedrooms. Vash always stays in the other one, when he visits here. It seems that he never chose a home of his own. I'm glad to have him near, when he visits. It's almost like old times that way.

His memories help me feel like he's close instead of far away. However, I still miss him terribly when he's gone. I understand that he doesn't want bounty hunters coming here, though I wish that worry didn't keep him away so much.

There was already one attack here, about 35 years ago, because Vash's enemies wanted to hurt him. He doesn't want anything like that to happen again, ever.

I worry about him, wandering all alone. I pray that he isn't overcome by another waking nightmare, when there's nobody to help him.

Vash's letters also tell about how he's been hunting down anybody who uses his name to do wrong. He catches them and ties them up, and then leaves them at the doorstep of a sheriff's office.

He often attaches a punny note to the trussed-up criminal. Silly things like, "I tried to be Vash, but I got stampeded," or "I was run over by a typhoon," or "I was caught by a local natural disaster."

From the newspaper articles, nobody has guessed who it is that keeps leaving Vash impersonators on the doorsteps of Sheriff's offices. The original says he means to put a stop to the misuse of his name, and hopes that will result in his name being forgotten.

I hope it only results in the price on his head being repealed. He shouldn't be forgotten.


	5. Stampede

_I do not own Trigun / Vash._

_Lyrics are from:_ "He Ain't Heavy... He's My Brother"_ The song was written by Bobby Scott and Bob Russell circa 1969_.

**Chapter 5: Stampede**

_If I'm laden at all_

_I'm laden with sadness_

_That everyone's heart_

_Isn't filled with the gladness_

_Of love for one another_

_..._

Vash shook his head sadly, as he trussed up yet another impersonator. Thankfully, this one worked alone so there was no need for multiple trips to the Sheriff's office.

_If they're truly proud of what they're doing, why don't they use their own name instead of stealing mine?_ He sighed wearily.

He stood, picked up the unconscious man, and began carrying him away.

Vash wanted to live quietly, or at least he thought he did. He'd enjoyed the quiet times with Lina and her grandmother, and with Naomi and Shyla.

However, he knew that he would get little peace while such a high bounty remained on his head. Although that may have changed since he left it, the remote town where he'd stayed quietly for eighteen years seemed to be the only place that wasn't up in arms screaming for his blood.

Except for the one place he dared not linger for fear of drawing trouble there... the Seeds ship village, where all of the people he called "family" lived.

Lina and her grandmother had been like family, during the days when he lived with them. However, their lives had moved on and left him behind. He knew that was good, though he also missed them. Especially the child Lina had been.

Shyla had eventually told him about Lina's job as Sheriff, so Vash knew that he needed to stay away from Kasted. It was possible that Lina might try to protect him for old times' sake. If she did, that would put her and her family into harm's way.

Having criminals impersonate him just reminded people that he was wanted. It endangered both innocent bystanders and also his friends.

_This needs to end_, he thought again.

He'd started tracking the ones who claimed his name 20 years ago. He would wait until they were asleep, or else had drunk themselves into a stupor. Then he would quietly go in and tie them up, and haul them to the nearest Sheriff's office in the middle of the night.

He'd done that numerous times already. Yet each time one was tended, another "Vash the Stampede" would turn up somewhere else.

It was frustrating and at times heartbreaking, but at least it gave him something to do. It was also a community service, looking after the people Rem sacrificed her life to save.

He dared not wear his red coat, and he had to keep his hair long, but otherwise it almost felt like old times. Those old times hadn't been all good, but they hadn't been all bad either. Those tough but gentle days... in some ways, he'd loved those times.

Fewer would be hurt while these imposters were incarcerated and unable to do any harm. Maybe they would learn the error of their ways, and embrace peace instead. One could always hope!

He knew better than to hold his breath though. That thought saddened him, as it always did. It nearly always took people a long time to change, if they changed at all.

Why was it so difficult for them to love each other? They were all normal humans, so it seemed to him that it should be easier for them to love each other than it was. He loved them all, even though he knew better than to hope that they would love him in return.

It always broke his heart when he saw one who was inclined or determined to hurt others. He knew they had the potential to be better than that. That's why he always hoped they would discover their better selves, and overcome their violent inclinations. That's another reason why he wouldn't kill. Rem had taught him that.

He was careful as he walked through the town to pick dark, deserted streets. He did not want to be seen, even though he was disguised to make himself as unobtrusive as possible. His height always attracted attention, no matter what else he did.

He arrived at the sheriff's office, and put the man down in front of the door. He pulled out a paper and writing instrument, and wrote another silly message. He was tired, so it wasn't as well planned as some of the former notes. He didn't want to repeat messages, and tonight he was running low on ideas. This one wasn't worth telling Shyla about.

He attached the note to the man's back, and walked away.

_That's one less "Vash" out causing trouble. I wonder where the next will appear_.

It had been 40 years since Knives disappeared. Never a word that might lead to him - not even an imposter. Yet there was a steady stream of "Vash" impersonators. It was as if the title was unclaimed, and the worst people on No Man's Land were competing for it.

It saddened him how his name, those three little words, made others dance to the whims of the impostors.

He sighed again and started toward the place he'd hidden his bag. He planned to sleep there for a few hours, before heading back into the desert.

He hoped that someday he could go into a town and rent a hotel room without worrying about someone recognizing him or wanting the price on his head.

Vash lay awake, staring at the stars, unable to sleep. He'd let the thought of Knives cross his mind again, and that was always unsettling.

Had his brother died? If so, was he finally at peace?

Or had his will to survive overcome his revulsion at the idea of living like a human?

Vash's heart ached for him, even after all that had passed. He still remembered the boy Knives had been, and knew he had potential to live a better life than he had for his first 150 years. He wanted to see his brother healed. He wanted to see him happy again, as he had been when they were very young... before they learned about Tessla.

He didn't know if that had already happened, or if Knives was dead and beyond healing.

He missed the days when he and Rem and Knives had been a family. Even though he considered all the people and plants on No Man's Land as family, he and Rem and Knives had enjoyed a special closeness during that first year of his life. As much as he loved all the people in the Seeds village, it just wasn't the same. He'd not known such closeness since Rem died.

...until Shyla. He'd acquired a new family member. He still wasn't sure how best to describe what _type_ of family member she was, but she was definitely family.

Looking back over his memories of the 38 years he'd known her, he couldn't pinpoint when or how his friendship with the young plant girl had crossed the line between friends and family, but he knew that it had. Perhaps it was partly because she also understood how it felt to be a Plant among ordinary humans.

He was grateful for that, however it had happened. Even now, when he was completely alone and entirely isolated from everyone and everything, remembering Shyla made him feel less lonely.

There was no one living and breathing near him. However, he knew that he had a friend, someone who loved him and wasn't likely to die within the next 50 years. He could let himself love this friend, without having that doom hanging over her head. There was comfort in that, too. If Shyla kept growing deeper into his heart, one day he might come to love her as much as he still loved Rem.

Even if Shyla became repulsed when she learned of his past mistakes, he had reason to hope she might continue to be his friend. She'd already weathered a few of his lesser mistakes without turning away from him. He'd been a little surprised by that. If there was any change at all, so far, it might be that she loved him more than she had previously.

He wondered how her gentle heart would respond to the next memory package he was composing for her. It was time to show her the discovery of Tessla, the great fall of the ships, and the early days of wandering with Knives.

He would show her everything without reserve, through the hour when he accepted the ride with the normal humans. This package would end with the day he parted from his brother. He would not show what happened after he'd arrived at the town, at least not yet.

Vash wasn't worried that she would grow to hate humans, as Knives had done. Shyla had been among ordinary humans for 42 years, and knew their capacity for kindness.

She also knew several of their foibles, and found most of those foibles amusing. When she shared her amusement by thought or private words, he couldn't disagree. He'd often been similarly amused, but previously had nobody with whom to share that amusement.

His only worry was that Shyla might despise him for the way he reacted after finding Tessla's remains and the records about her. Or for failing to recognize that Knives had changed, and not stopping him from forcing the ships to fall.

Well, if she did, then he couldn't blame her. He wasn't exactly proud of those days, either. However, even though he wasn't sure why, he wanted to be completely honest with her about those things. It felt important.

He hoped she would find it in her heart to forgive him again, as she had forgiven other lesser mistakes he'd shared with her. She'd seen him depressed before, and responded with gentle grace and patience. Perhaps there was hope she might do the same after learning about that depression, too, even though he'd behaved so very badly.

If Shyla could forgive him for his reaction to learning about Tessla, there was hope she might forgive at least some of his greater sins. There would be cause to hope he might never lose her friendship, even if it grew less close because she respected him less.

The girl was thriving among the seeds villagers. Their friendship was slowly growing less that of "mentor and pupil," and gradually approaching that of equals.

There was anticipation in the idea of being able to talk to her with less reserve. He'd still be 150 years older than she, and probably tease her about it... though she'd likely tease right back on that subject. The imagined banter made him smile.

Hunting impersonators was wearing him down emotionally. It was nearly time to check in with the seeds ship villagers anyhow. Maybe he would visit this time, instead of only entering radio range to talk.

Seeing Shyla tended to lift his spirits. Even the thought of seeing her was comforting. He could see how many more of his apple tree seeds she'd planted while he was there, too.

He smiled, closed his eyes, and was finally able to sleep.


	6. Healing

_I do not own Trigun / Vash._

_Lyrics are from:_ "He Ain't Heavy... He's My Brother"_ The song was written by Bobby Scott and Bob Russell circa 1969_.

**Chapter 6: Healing**

_It's a long, long road_

_From which there is no return_

_While we're on the way to there_

_Why not share_

_..._

Shyla abruptly sat up in bed, and stuffed her blankets in her mouth to muffle her sobs. She also tried to contain the emotion, so it wouldn't disturb the sisters in the power plants.

Five years ago, when Vash had warned her that the next set of memories would be very difficult, she'd believed him. He'd tried to talk her into only viewing them as if through a window, with reduced emotional echoes, but she'd declined. She'd wanted to experience it as he had. She'd not known how difficult those memories would prove to be.

She remembered him saying, "The first part is especially rough. I'll sit with you while you process that part, at least through the day that Rem died." He'd taken her hand, had her sit on the couch beside him, and waited patiently.

When she learned about Tessla, she cried. She'd slipped under his arm, resting her head on his shoulder, and hugged his side. He'd put his arm around her, and leaned his cheek against the top of her head. "Keep going," he'd said softly. "It doesn't get better yet."

He hadn't exaggerated. She fully understood his despair when those events had occurred, and it haunted her. How did he bear it?

Since he did bear those memories without being overwhelmed, that meant it was possible to bear it. She must learn how.

She'd done as he asked, and kept going until the end of the day that Rem died. She had difficulty dealing with the pain of those memories when she received them at age 42. How had he managed when he was barely over a year old?

She'd clung to him, repeatedly saying she was sorry.

"You've done nothing wrong," he'd said, sounding a little puzzled. "I was the one who did all of those terrible things, Shyla."

"You were so young, and justly terrified," she'd said. "I'm sorry you had to endure so much, especially when you were so very young."

"So," he said hesitantly, "do you think that, someday, you might be able to forgive me for what I did?" He was tense, and had a strange expression on his face.

Shyla recalled lifting her head off his shoulder to stare at him. He'd tied his hair back, so she could see his face. "Why would I need to forgive you?" she'd asked, feeling confused. "You panicked. I wasn't the one you hurt. If she forgave you, shouldn't it be ok now?"

"You don't loathe me for what I did?"

"No, of course not," she'd said. "It's not like you run around hurting people that way anymore - in fact, you actively discourage people from hurting others. If you were a person who habitually hurt others, we'd never have become friends."

She'd leaned her head back on his shoulder, and hugged him. "I'm sorry that it happened. But you don't do that anymore. You're not like that. That's what matters."

He'd finally relaxed, leaning his cheek against her head again.

"It will take me a while to get used to this," she'd said. "I didn't know it would hurt so much."

"I should have given you the window view," he'd said sadly.

"No," she'd protested. "It's better this way. I want to understand, and I can't do that if I'm always wrapped in cotton."

"Wrapped in cotton is a good place for anything precious," he'd said, hugging her.

"Then I should wrap you in cotton, too," she'd said, hugging him in return.

He'd chuckled, and she'd deliberately let herself feel how much she cared for him... which meant he would feel it also. She felt his answering warmth, and smiled.

They'd sat like that, silently, each wrapped in their own thoughts, far into the night.

Five years later, the memories received that evening still gave her nightmares. Thankfully not waking nightmares, like he sometimes suffered, but the ones she had when sleeping were bad enough.

Shyla threw aside her blankets, and got out of bed. She reached for a robe to put on over her pajamas, and walked into the main part of her home.

Home always felt terribly empty when Vash was away, which was most of the time. The memories he had shared with her helped, but she still craved his living presence. When she could to see him, hear him breathe or speak, smell the desert in his hair, and touch him - it made everything seem right with the world.

She wandered to her desk, and opened the drawer where she stored his letters. He still signed them all with "Nate Saverem," the name he'd used when he lived across the hall from her and her mother for eighteen years. That way, if a letter went astray, nobody from outside the Seeds village would know who'd written it.

Shyla realized that she was too restless for reading. She caressed the envelopes and gently closed the drawer, sealing those treasures out of sight.

In a prior memory package, he'd included his exercise routine. That might be just what she needed. It had the potential to make her so tired she could sleep without dreaming.

She smiled at the memory of how many years it had taken her to achieve competence with each of those exercises. She couldn't completely match his expertise yet, but she kept working on it. Maybe someday she could travel with him, if she got good enough.

Shyla did every exercise she could remember, slowly. When she finished, her body was ready to sleep but her mind was as restless as ever. Drat. She washed up and put regular clothes on.

It was the middle of the night, so it was highly unlikely she'd find anyone else up to provide a distraction. The folks on night watch would be occupied and not wanting interruptions. She pondered options for a few minutes.

She could see if any of the power plants was bored. Perhaps, if one was, she would assist with a bit more healing for the patient in cryo.

Various tutors were exploring old records about plant abilities. One that everyone, including Shyla herself, found intriguing was the possibility of temporarily loaning additional regeneration to an ordinary human.

That was when she'd learned that Vash could have healed his own scars, back when he got them. The fact that they specified that he could have done it _previously_, as if it was not possible now, led to her learning what his black hair meant. She'd cried herself to sleep that night, aching for him.

Her tutors had explained to her that before she tried sharing regeneration, she must first visit her sister plants and see if any had surplus energy to share. That way, there was no danger of Shyla overspending herself into acquiring black hair.

Apparently, Vash had threatened dire consequences if he found any black hair on her head and they weren't sure if he'd been joking or not. So they were very strict with her on the subject of spending her inherent plant energy.

She'd learned to help heal many types of injuries, from small cuts and scratches (for practice, at first) to more serious wounds. Three years ago, there'd been an accident. It resulted in several people being badly burned. So Shyla had talked with the other plants, and had helped all she could when they had surplus energy to share.

The consensus was that she'd done well. Burns were perhaps the most difficult to help heal, so Shyla was both pleased and relieved by their praise.

A few months later, when catching up on paperwork, forgotten records of a severely burned person in cryo sleep were rediscovered. This patient had been discovered in a piece of burning wreckage, more dead than alive, at the time of the great fall. There had not been resources to treat the person then, so they had put them into a cryo sleep chamber. There said burn victim still rested.

Shyla had been asked to try healing that patient while the person remained in cryo sleep. She'd quickly understood why healing was needed prior to waking... seared lungs, hands and feet burned so badly that finger and toe bones were exposed, all the skin and hair burned off... the poor soul was a mess.

So she had been healing her, when surplus energy was available, on and off ever since.

The internal organs were tended first, then gradually the muscles and lately the skin. In the process, they discovered that the patient was female. Shyla had finished the scalp and hair follicles during the last session. All that remained was to regenerate the skin over her face, and then the woman could be awakened.

Shyla was eager to speak with her. The patient had the remains of a space suit burned into her, according to the records. It had been removed before she was put into cryo sleep. So she must have been awake when the great fall began.

This means she might have been crew on one of the ships. She might have known Rem. Wouldn't it be a grand surprise for Vash? Shyla imagined that he might be able to talk with someone else who knew his beloved Rem, and his pleasure at such an opportunity.

So she walked around and greeted each of the plants in turn, asking if any had surplus she was willing to share. One did.

After exchanging pleasantries, accepting the gift and expressing thanks, Shyla went to the cryo sleep unit where the burned woman slept. She closed her eyes and concentrated. Little by little, she felt the skin forming on the woman's face. First came the forehead, then the eyelids, then the nose... she didn't hurry, and she was careful to budget energy.

Eyebrows, eyelashes, cheeks, lips, chin... good, there was enough to put her all the way back together. Shyla opened her eyes and looked at the results of her efforts. There was something familiar about the woman's face, but she couldn't place it.

Ah well, it probably didn't matter. The important thing is that she could be awakened now. She'd need clothes, and a scarf for her head until her hair grew in, but she could live outside the cryo unit now and she didn't have any scars. She could even stay in Vash's room, or technically "Shyla's guest room," until she fully recovered.

Vash had checked in only three months ago, so it was unlikely he'd wander this direction again for half a year or so. That should give adequate time for the patient to recover enough to live on her own, before he was likely to want the room again.

Shyla waited impatiently for one of the medical supervisors to wake up and get to the offices. She paced the various streets of the village, and the corridors of the ship. Time hung heavily.

She could feel another nightmare lurking in the back of her brain, ready to pounce if she tried to sleep. So she kept pacing, waiting for the day.

The night finally ended, as all nights must. Seeing the daylight lifted her spirits some, but she remained eagerly impatient to wake the woman from the past.

She walked past a doorway where someone was cooking breakfast. Food. Good idea. If the medical supervisor learned she'd been so impatient to wake the burn victim that she hadn't eaten, she'd never hear the end of it!

Shyla scolded herself as she walked briskly back to her own place. She would be forty-eight years old next month. Theoretically, she shouldn't be so excited by anything that she'd forget to eat!

When she got home, she made herself a sandwich. Not traditional breakfast food, but she was still impatient to see if the lady could be awakened. She washed up after breakfast, and changed into slightly nicer clothes. It seemed a fitting gesture.

She returned to the medical offices, and saw indications that at least one supervisor was in. So she walked to the secretary and asked, "May I see Lumia, please? I have an update on a patient's condition."

The meeting was short, but reasonably satisfactory. The plan was to awaken the woman from the past after lunch. Shyla busied herself around the medical center, doing any odd jobs she could find. The children could survive without wrestling her today; she couldn't be content anywhere but here until her patient was awake.

She briefly considered going out to the apple orchard. It had grown from apple seeds Vash had given her and she had planted, shortly after she arrived 25 years ago. However, it might take the newly-awakened lady a while for her digestive system to work out the kinks after being in cryo sleep for so long. Apples could wait.

Shyla hoped she wasn't making a nuisance of herself. She was honestly trying to be helpful. Her usual shift in the medical center was afternoon hours, so she didn't know the morning routine. She hoped she was more help than hindrance as she ran errands for various medical needs.

Eventually, the appointed hour arrived. Shyla accompanied Luida, Lumia, three doctors and four technicians to the cryo chamber. They wheeled out the healed burn victim, and began the thawing process.

There was still something familiar about this woman's face. Shyla tried to shrug it off, since she couldn't place what it was. Perhaps she'd seen a descendant of one of her relatives either in her home town or somewhere along the trip that brought her here. Nobody in Seeds village looked enough like this woman to cause that feeling.

The thawing process seemed to take forever, though the clock claimed it was only half an hour. There were no technical difficulties, and all her vital signs looked good.

Shyla helped them dress her, and tie a soft golden scarf around her temporarily bald head. She had a glass of water ready on a small wheeled cart, since she'd been told the woman might be thirsty when she wakened.

The minutes ticked by, and finally the chocolate-brown eyes opened. She looked confused, which was entirely understandable. She opened her mouth to speak, and swallowed hard.

Shyla gently lifted her by the shoulders, supporting her head as Naomi had done for Vash, when he'd been this weak. She held the glass of water to the woman's mouth, and gently tilted it as she drank. When the glass was finished, she eased her back down onto the bed.

"Where am I?" she asked.

Shyla took her hand in what she hoped was a supportive and comforting gesture as Luida stepped forward.

"You're safe," Luida said. "The ships crashed, and you were discovered in a small bit of wreckage. You were badly injured. You've been in cryo sleep ever since, until we had a way to heal you enough to wake you."

The woman's eyes widened, and she said, "My boys! They're all alone, they need me..."

"You've been sleeping a long time," Luida said gently. "They would have grown up by now, and perhaps had children, grand children, great-grandchildren, even great-great grandchildren... it's been nearly 200 years since the ships fell."

The woman gasped, and then took a moment to process that. Luida waited patiently while her gaze was directed inward. When she appeared to be looking at her again, Luida continued.

"If you tell us their names," she offered, "we could see if any of their descendants may be found. They might be pleased to meet you. By the way, what is your name?"

"My name," the woman said slowly, "is Rem Saverem. My boys' names are Vash and Knives."

With tears in her eyes, Shyla leaned over and gently hugged Rem. "Welcome to the world of No Man's Land, Rem," she said softly into her ear.

Rem was both bald and much thinner than Vash's last memory of her. The regeneration process couldn't give muscle tone. Those things explained why Shyla hadn't recognized her, but had sensed familiarity.

With her heart, Shyla reached out to Vash with affection, joy and an urgent desire that he should come. He was far, very far away, but she felt his response and she knew that he had changed direction. He was now traveling toward them, and would arrive as soon as he possibly could.

"Vash is coming," she promised Rem softly. "It will take him some time to arrive, but you'll see him when he does. He will be so happy to learn that you're alive!"


	7. Homecoming

_I do not own Trigun / Vash._

_Lyrics are from:_ "He Ain't Heavy... He's My Brother"_ The song was written by Bobby Scott and Bob Russell circa 1969_.

**Chapter 7: Homecoming**

_And the load_

_Doesn't weigh me down at all_

_He ain't heavy he's my brother_

_..._

Rem wobbled on her feet again, and suppressed an impulse to swear.

Shyla had warned her that her newly regenerated muscles would have no memory, and she'd need to teach them how to react to what her brain wanted them to do all over again. It was like being a newborn baby.

It was also too frustrating, at times, for polite words.

Yet it gave her something to do, and Shyla excelled at unobtrusive assistance. The girl was so quiet much of the time that Rem found it easy to rest or work on things like relearning how to walk with her gentle support.

She could feel her body gaining strength as she ate and moved. Sometimes, she could swear she felt stronger after Shyla touched her, but that must be her imagination.

Rem leaned against the wall. It was a pleasant house. It had two bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, and a larger room between them that provided kitchen, sitting and eating areas. Like many dwellings here, this one was partially dug into the side of a hill or cliff surrounding the valley where an intact Seeds ship hovered. It had wide windows on the one wall that faced toward the valley.

Shyla put lunch on the table, and then came to where Rem was standing and extended her hand with a smile. The girl was a better than average cook, which also helped restore Rem. Her appetite had returned more quickly than she'd expected, thanks to the girl's culinary skills.

Rem accepted the proffered hand, and the assistance to reach the table. She sat heavily in the chair. At least she'd relearned how to use her hands in the last two months, while waiting for Vash to arrive. Walking was taking longer.

Shyla sat across from her, but before eating, she tipped her head. Rem heard faint sounds from the radio loop attached to the girl's left earlobe. She saw her face brighten.

"Vash is within radio range, and should be here by evening," she said. "I'll need to fry some doughnuts for him."

Rem closed her eyes. The idea that Vash had grown up without her, mourning her death, made her heart ache for him. He'd been such a sensitive child. She knew that must have been difficult for him. She would have been there for him, if she could.

It troubled her that no one would say anything about Knives. She'd managed to pry out of Shyla that nobody had seen or heard anything of him for over 45 years.

"What is Vash like, now?" Rem asked, for perhaps the hundredth time.

Shyla's answer was always the same.

"He's had a difficult life," she said. "It has scarred him, yet he is gentle and kind and thoughtful toward others. He still loves you dearly. You'll be proud of him."

This time, to Rem's surprise, Shyla had more to say. "He's tall, taller than I am. He's lean, not brawny. His hair isn't blonde anymore. Except for a very few strands, it's entirely black now. Somehow the darker hair suits him as well as the blonde did."

Shyla smiled, looking thoughtfully at the center of the table. "His eyes haven't changed much," she continued. "They're still the same clear blue-green that they were when he was small. When you look into his eyes, even when he's smiling, they may look sad. His face is pleasant, though more boyish than rugged. He still bears just enough resemblance to how he appeared as a boy that I think you'll recognize him."

Rem wondered how Shyla, who looked so young, could possibly know how Vash appeared as a boy. Before she could ask, Shyla looked up and smiled at her.

"Probably best you get to know him for yourself," she said. "I can't describe him well, but he's amazing in so many ways. He has such a beautiful heart! You'll surely love him; at least as much for who he is now, as you do for the boy you once knew."

Rem looked into the girl's pale hazel eyes, and realized that this girl loved Vash. She couldn't tell if Shyla was "in love" with him or not, but her affection was obvious. Her plain face was alight, and her smile was brighter than Rem had ever seen it before.

She had been concentrating her own recovery. By focusing on that, she'd avoided worrying too much about her adopted sons. She'd gotten used to Shyla, without really paying much attention to her. She hadn't meant to ignore her. She simply felt it was important to relearn basic things like how to walk and that had required a lot of concentration.

Rem wondered if the girl was always so transparent about her affection for Vash, or if his proximity had made it more evident. She'd have to watch, and find out.

She was glad that someone cared for Vash. It meant he wasn't entirely alone, and that helped her to feel slightly less guilty that she'd not been with him as he grew.

Rem ran her fingers through her short hair. It was about two finger-widths long now, enough to make a moderately unruly mop covering her head. That was much shorter than she preferred, but still an improvement over being bald.

Shyla picked up her sandwich, and started eating. After swallowing the first bite, she said, "So, how shall we inform Vash that you're here?" There was a slightly mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Rem smiled, and they began talking about ideas between mouthfuls of lunch.

Everything was ready, and word came by way of Shyla's ear radio that Vash had reached the gondola. He was riding it into the valley.

Four plates heaped with fresh doughnuts waited on the kitchen counter.

They'd decided that Rem would wait in the house, since that's where Vash would come after greeting his many friends anyway. It meant she wouldn't have to try walking and risk stumbling and embarrassing herself.

She sat comfortably on a large couch near the door. Vash would come in, and Shyla would turn him in the right direction as Rem stood up. Then they would both see how he reacted.

She could hear voices approaching through the open window.

"Come on Shyla, at least give me a hint," a masculine voice pleaded playfully. That had to be Vash. Something about the way he pronounced the words was so familiar that she instantly recognized it as his voice. "Nobody will tell me anything!"

"Someone who's eager to see you," Shyla said mysteriously. Then more gently, "You'll be glad to see her, too. Please, just come in."

"One of these days," he said, mock-threateningly.

Rem could almost feel Shyla's smile.

She heard the door open, and saw them walk in. Shyla was holding his right hand, pulling him gently through the doorway. He wasn't really resisting, just hanging back enough to make a point. He held a bag by its drawstring, slung over his left shoulder.

"Here she is, Vash," Shyla said quietly, leading him by the hand to turn him toward Rem.

Rem stood up, and saw his eyes widen. His bag dropped.

"It's ok," Shyla said gently. "She's real. It's not a dream. She's really here." She opened her hand, making it easier for him to move away from her if he chose.

Rem smiled. Shyla had been correct. She knew him for Vash. His face had changed, but she could still see traces of her boy in the tall man standing in front of her

His mouth soundlessly formed her name, and she opened her arms.

"Rem!" he said, and nearly knocked her over as he gathered her into a hug.

He was laughing and crying, and so was she.

After a moment, he turned. Still holding onto Rem with his right arm, he reached for Shyla with his left. The girl came, with tears streaming down her cheeks. Vash pulled her in, and it became a three-way hug.

He held on tightly to both of them, weeping tears of joy instead of sorrow. "Now I know what home is," he whispered. "It's wherever you two are."

"Today, I've finally found my home."

...

...

...

...

... _continued in_ "Rem Returns"


End file.
